Harry Potter and That Guy with the Dumb Purple Hair
by Veritism
Summary: I'm an average kind of guy. Average grades, average lack of friends, average magical wizardly powers- Just plain average, I guess. 'With a sinking feeling, I threw the letter to the floor and curled up on my bed. I never should've gotten my hopes up, really. I mean, seriously- who'd want to write to me, anyway? I was just the target of a tap tap tap tap TAP TAP.'
1. Magic isn't real

**Greetings, subjects. My name is Veritism and this is the first fanfiction I've ever posted, and one of the first few I've ever written. I hope you enjoy yourself. Please note; I'm not fluent in Harry Potter knowledge, so if I make a mistake with a wizardly name or get my facts wrong, please feel free to rant at and/or correct me on it. **  
**Enjoy.**

**-/-/-/-/-**

I learned that I was more weird than I originally thought in the week proceeding my eleventh birthday. It started on Saturday the eighteenth of June, seven days before my birthday, with an odd letter in the mail.  
"Cael, y'got a letter 'ere for ya," I heard my dad yell upstairs to me. I blinked, staring at my door with a frown. I never got anything in the post. Nonetheless, I stumbled out of bed, scratching my head as I did so. But by the time I had rushed my way to the bottom of the stairs, dad was holding my opened letter with all the care and concern of a hungry tiger.  
"What is it?" I asked, drumming my fingers against the banister. As I previously said, I never got mail. Seriously. Never. And now that I had some, I wanted to actually read it whether it was useful or not.  
"Nothin'," dad grunted, "just someone's idea of a joke," he tossed the thick letter into the open fire without another word. I watched as it caught fire and burned up, wondering vaguely why someone would send me, of all people, a joke letter. I wondered a bit more about why it was on such expensive-looking paper- what did they call that thick stuff? Parchment? Huh.  
But, I supposed I couldn't worry about it. It was gone now. And there was nothing I could do about it.

When I was five, I stubbed my toe on the concrete outside my house. Cried for hours about it, too. I was never really what you'd call a brave kid. I never fought with anything other than words- but that, I could do. As a youth, I was very articulate, very clever in the way that I could knock someone's block off verbally, cause them to reel back in pain having not lifted a finger. Or at least, that's what I thought it was. My words. I always got in trouble when the kid I'd chosen to talk to turned up at school the next day with a bruised jaw and blamed it on me.  
"But I didn't even hit him!" I would protest, sniffling. I didn't want to get into trouble for something I hadn't done. But no matter what I said, I would always end up sitting by myself at lunch-time, doing homework.  
It actually wasn't too big of a deal, because that's what I did every lunch-time anyway. No-one wanted to be friends with me because of this whole beating-up conspiracy, so I never really had anyone who I _could_ be friends with. On the upside, though, I was even left alone by the bullies of the time- because I had allegedly kicked their arses, too. Even though I hadn't, and they were all liars, they still kept up the pretense of being scared of me pretty well. And yeah, they were six, so they weren't really bullies anyway. But they were the ones who grew up to be bullies. Even at the age of six they were starting to pick on others, and that's why I referred to them as such.  
Because there was only one kid in that school who actually 'hit' people, and therefore bullied them, and that was me.

On the Monday five days before my birthday it happened again, twice.  
"Cael, y'got-" Dad shouted, breaking off before he'd finished his sentence. I charged downstairs once more, only to see him tossing what looked like two letters into the smoldering fire.  
"Why'd they send more?" I asked dad, frowning as the thick parchment curled up in the heat. Dad shrugged, slouching over to his armchair and flopping down.  
"Twenty pounds on the bench. Go buy y'self dinner," he yawned, picking up his half-empty bottle of beer and taking a swig. I took the money without complaint. Really, would you complain if you'd just been given twenty pounds?  
On the Tuesday, four days before my eleventh birthday, I waited by the door for the post to arrive. Dad snapped at me once or twice, but I ignored him in favour of counting the minutes.  
When the post arrived, there were four copies of the thick parchment. I heard Dad shambling his way towards the foyer, and so I took one of the letters, hiding it under my jacket. Dad appeared just moments after I'd hidden it, blinking blearily at me.  
"Why did you wait here for the post?" he asked, eyes narrowed.. _Crap_, I thought, _he's sober_. Maybe he was tired, but he was definitely sober.  
"Wanted to see if they'd send more. Look, there's three this time," I lied, handing over the parchment casually. Dad eyed me up for a moment, but took the letters anyway.  
"Oh, well, more paper for the fire," he shrugged, chuckling to himself as he shuffled past me to grab the rest of the letters. I quickly skirted about him and all but sprinted up to my room, closing the door firmly behind myself before I took the letter out. There was a bit of wax holding it shut, but I quickly ripped through it, opening up the letter a bit too fast. A piece of it ripped, and I had to hold it on the ripped part to make sure it would be readable.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

It took me a few minutes to digest that first part. I stared at the page the entire time, reading and re-reading it to make sure I hadn't misread.  
WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
The words snarled at me like a taunt from my cousin Johnny.  
_Dad's right. It's just a joke.  
_With a sinking feeling, I threw the letter to the floor and curled up on my bed. I never should've gotten my hopes up, really. I mean, seriously- who'd want to write to me, anyway? I was just the target of a **tap tap tap tap TAP TAP**.

Frowning, I glanced over at my window. My curtains were shut, but there was something outside- something tapping on the glass. Carefully, I edged over, tweaked the curtain apart to have a look.  
A large owl sat outside my window, its yellow eyes boring into me. Two big tufts of feathers rose from its head and even as I started to question my sanity, it tapped on the window with its beak again.

**TAP. TAP. TAP.**

More insistently this time, like it was losing patience. I glanced down at its talons – its large, sharp talons – and noticed a letter there. A very familiar-looking letter. I looked back over at the floor where I'd chucked my letter, and back, and it was indeed the same one.  
I was still questioning my sanity as I unlatched the window and pulled it up, but the owl did nothing more than hop onto the windowsill and hold out its leg. My hands were shaking as I untied the letter, half-expecting the owl to attack me, but once I had it free I felt a lot better. I stumbled backwards into my bed and sat down rather abruptly, staring at the letter for a second. Then, I looked up, and the owl gave a short hoot before it turned and jumped right back out of the window, spreading its wings and soaring away.  
I read the letter more carefully this time. It was a letter of acceptance, so it seemed, to a school of- well, a school of witchcraft and wizardry. There was even a list of required clothing and books and such. The more times I read it, though, the more uncertain I got. It seemed like it was real, if the owl and the formality of it was anything to go by, but why on earth would they send it to me? I wasn't magical in any way.  
As if by an alarming and not very subtle coincidence my mind decided to, at that moment, flash back to the various fights I'd had over the years. The ones where I'd done nothing, absolutely nothing, and yet I'd always won- and always gotten in trouble, too.  
My eyes widened as I finally realised what must have happened, and - I must admit - at that moment I hugged the letter to my chest and cried for a little bit.

Not all of us can be manly men all the time, you know.

**-/-/-/-/-**

**Tell me if this first chapter was crappy or decent or moved you to tears. I'll update again as soon as I can.**

**Veritism**


	2. Magic is real?

**Greetings, subjects. I have returned with the second chapter of my fanfic, and shall bestow it upon you with the fervent prayer that you will enjoy it.**

**-/-/-/-/-**

"Twen'y poun's on the bench. Go buy dinner fo' y'self," dad grunted from his position on the couch. I took the money gladly- even more so than I would have usually. For three days, dad had told me to go buy myself dinner, and for three days I'd been skipping dinner and collecting the money. Eighty pounds it was now.  
I didn't know much about magic or anything, but I figured that wands and robes and cauldrons cost a lot of money. And so I'd been saving up, which I was rather proud of myself for- I usually didn't have that much restraint. And tomorrow was my birthday, too, so I'd probably get a fair bit more money from relatives and such.  
I wandered out the front door, trying to think of something to do for an hour or so. It'd take that long for me to usually go and buy dinner and get back, and so to avoid dad getting too suspicious, for the past three days I'd been wandering around aimlessly for the hour.

I ended up going to the small park a couple of streets away from my house. It wasn't a very nice park, kind of small with a rusted swingset and patchy, browning grass. But, it was better than nothing. I usually ended up here when I didn't have anything to do- mainly because no-one else went there, so I could be alone.  
I sat down on the swings for lack of a better seat, though I swiftly rose again when I noticed that the swing was dripping wet.  
"Nice," I sighed, sort of swiping at the back of my jeans to try and shake the water off. It didn't do that much good.

And so, a bit less than an hour since I'd left the house, I came back with a wet arse and not much else to show for my time out.  
Dad was snoring on the couch when I returned, so I crept upstairs in an effort to not wake him. Once safely in my room I swapped my jeans for my pyjama bottoms and pulled off my shirt, then crawled into bed.  
Now, for the past three years, I'd had the same bedside table. Dad never could be bothered to replace it, even though the middle drawer had no handle. To open it I had to first open the bottom drawer, reach in, and slowly shift the middle drawer out with my fingers. So that was where I'd hidden my two letters, the one from the owl and the one from the post.

After, of course, painstakingly shoving the drawer open far enough, I slipped my fingers into the front to pull it the rest of the way. My letters were sitting there alongside the three sets of twenty pound notes. I placed the fourth note in and pulled out the letter I'd opened on Monday. It was a sort of ritual, by now. Put in the money, and re-read the letter to make sure it was still real.

WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

As much as those words had originally stung, hurt like a brand, now they were a salve, soothing my wounds and reminding me this was all real. Who'd have thought, right? Magic is real, and somehow I had it. I mean, dad didn't have magic, and as far as I knew mum didn't have it either, though she'd died at my birth. The doctors had ended up having to cut me out of her because she had died.  
The smile on my face faltered somewhat, but I forced it back on. After all, it wasn't my fault she had died. And I never knew her anyway- maybe she would have been a horrible mother.

As I shoved those thoughts aside, I heard movement. The stairs in my house are notoriously creaky, and I recognised that creak as someone moving up the stairs. I quickly set the letter back down in the drawer and just closed it before the door opened.  
"Cael," my dad grunted from the doorway. I looked up, smiling widely.  
"Hey, dad," I said quickly. Dad frowned.  
"I'm going to work," he grunted. He had to work long hours at night, which was why he spent all day sleeping and drinking. I nodded.  
"Try to enjoy yourself, I guess," I said. Dad shrugged.  
"Yeah. Remember to take your meds," he ordered. I nodded.  
"I will, don't worry," I assured him. He gave me a short nod and then turned, shuffled back out of my room.

I breathed a sigh, counted silently to ten, and then flopped down on my bed.  
Man, I needed a nap after that. And a washing machine for my jeans.

**-/-/-/-/-**

**These first two chapters have been very short, I know. And that is simply because they don't have much plot yet. The next chapter, I promise, will be longer, and there will be more plot to it.  
Feel free to ask me any questions, tell me what I'm doing wrong, or just yell at me in the reviews section.**

**My fondest regards to you all.**

**Veritism**


	3. The evils of magic

**Greetings, subjects. I am back with a new and improved chapter which I have worked into being more plot-filled than previous ones. Please excuse any general lack of knowledge about the wizarding universe.****  
**

**-/-/-/-/-**

I spent the last night before I turned eleven wide awake. Not just because of the 'oh boy, birthday' aspect, but also 'cause I was planning to spend my birthday out looking for wherever I could buy these magical items and whatnot.  
And it hit me rather suddenly, at god-knows-when o'clock, that there weren't any 'magical' stores in London. Really, I would've thought they'd been noticed before now. So where the hell were they? And how would I be able to find them if they were just hidden somewhere?  
I didn't have a wondrous 'Wizard's guide to magical London' or anything. If I couldn't buy the stuff I needed, I couldn't get to Hogwarts.

And so I spent the second part of my night clutching my pillow and trying to remember to breathe. I've never been particularly good at coping with stress, and when this happened it sort of- it came crashing down around me. How could I possibly believe that there were wizards out there? That I was one of them? If all this magical stuff existed, why had no-one noticed them before? Why had I gotten my hopes up in the first place, was it just because of the stupid trained owl?

Once what I considered to be morning rolled in, I had given up. Dad wasn't home yet, so I didn't need to worry about him yet.  
"It's fine," I told myself. Speaking aloud made me feel better, a little bit. "I have eighty pounds and I'll probably get more money today, and then I'll go buy some stuff and it'll be fine."

My goal set in my mind, I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed. I went downstairs and made myself some eggs on toast, and had just sat down to enjoy a late-morning Saturday breakfast- which I consider the best kind of breakfast- when someone knocked at the door.  
Dammit.  
I abandoned my eggs with sadness. I could practically hear them going cold by the time I'd reached the door.  
"Hello?" I asked as I opened the door. And then I blinked, and looked up. It was a tall, broad man, with a mane of black hair framing his face, helped along by a large beard.  
"Hello, ah... Cael, isn' it?" the man squinted at me. "Purple hair, looks righ'..." I swallowed.  
"Uh, yeah, I'm Cael," I agreed. Who the hell was this guy?  
"I'm here ter take you ter get yer things for Hogwarts," he puffed out his chest proudly, and I automatically took a step back. He was, as previously mentioned, very big.  
"What- Hogwarts?" I frowned. Who was spending this much effort to trick me? _He might not be tricking you_, said a little voice in the back of my brain, but I squashed it. No hope. Don't you dare.  
"You got yer letter, didn' you?" he asked gruffly. I nodded without really thinking about it.  
"I'm sorry, but- who are you?" I asked cautiously. He puffed out his chest again, looking particularly pleased.  
"Sorry, I didn' introduce mesself. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts. But you don' need ter worry about that until yer third year," he chuckled.  
Hope bloomed in my chest once more, despite my vicious attempts at stabbing it away.

It was real. I knew it was.

Probably.

"I, erm, I was just having breakfast, that's all..." I said, casting a longing gaze back towards the interior of the house.  
"Ooh, I'd love some breakfas'," Hagrid hummed, peering past me as though expecting the eggs to walk their way out for him to devour. Slightly taken aback, I froze for a moment or two.  
"Well, I suppose you could come in and I can make you something," I offered tentatively. Hagrid perked up at that.  
"If it's not too much trouble, then..." he raised his bushy eyebrows at me, and I shrugged, turning to lead him into the house. He had to stoop to get through the doorway, and I was pretty sure I heard something crash to the ground as he squeezed through the entryway, but I could deal with that later.

I ended up using all of the remaining eggs and bacon in the house before Hagrid seemed to be somewhat satisfied, and I only just managed to save myself half of my original plate of food. By the time I started eating, it was mostly cold, and before I'd taken three bites I heard the front door open.  
There was silence for a moment, before a curse rang through the house.  
"My mum's vase! CAEL!" my dad roared, his heavy boots stomping toward us. Hargid rose to his feet, and my chest felt tight as dad entered the room. He glared at me, frowned at Hagrid, before his eyes widened. Hagrid grinned.

"YOU! I thought I told you people to leave me alone!" dad growled, and I jumped a little.  
"You know Hagrid?" I asked. Was- Was dad the one setting me up? No. No-one was setting me up, shut it you idiotic brain. Dad looked back at me, something akin to horror on his face.  
"Go to your room! Don't- don't talk to him... Just get out, out," his eyes were wild, breath coming in pants.  
"Dad, please," I began. My heart was racing in my chest, fingers twitching.  
"I swore, I swore I wouldn't let him become a- a wizard, not after what happened to Maria!" dad yelled. Upon closer inspection, I could see tiny transparent beads of liquid hanging from the corners of his eyes. Dad never cried. Not when he'd been fired from his old job, not when he got beaten up in a drunken brawl, not when he talked about mum.  
"What happened to her?" I asked, wishing my voice wasn't trembling so much. Maria was my aunt on Dad's side, and she'd been his younger sister- his favourite, he said. Dad swallowed, glancing to the side as though he could physically dodge the question.  
"I thought she died before I was born," I ventured. Dad nodded, tight-lipped.

Hagrid finally spoke up after several minutes of silence.  
"Yer aunt was one the twelve killed by Sirius Black, the murderer," he explained shortly. I glanced at dad for verification, and he nodded jerkily.  
"Magic killed her. I won't have you learning magic like that," he spat. I looked down at my feet- I didn't really want to learn that kind of magic, either.  
"If yer son doesn' learn, he'll be _more_ of a danger 'cause he can't control his magic," Hagrid snapped. I quickly looked back at dad, eyebrows raised in expectence.

There was another long, uncomfortable silence.  
"Fine. Teach him," dad muttered brokenly, shuffling off toward the kitchen- in search of alcohol, most likely. Hagrid sighed.  
"Sorry abou' that, Cael," he patted me on the back and I only just managed to remain standing. "Do you- do you wan' ter go get yer stuff now?" he asked, bushy eyebrows tilting upwards. I shrugged.  
"Yeah, okay," I agreed, though I was feeling rather less excited about it. "Oh- I have some money I've been saving up- it's in my room," I added. Hagrid smiled.  
"Go get it, then. We can change it fer proper money when we get to Gringott's, if you like. Yer mum's got a bit of money in there already, but a bit more won' hurt," he said, possibly more brightly than was necessary.

I dashed upstairs to fetch the money, as well as a copy of my letter for good luck. I stuck it in my school bag, and slung the bag over my shoulder before heading back downstairs.  
"I'm ready," I grinned at Hagrid, and he returned the smile as he led the way to the door.

-/-/-/-/-

Terrible? Okay? Kind of sexy?  
If you like, you can leave me a response telling what I did wrong, right, and what you think I should fix in future.

Another little disclaimer here- I am not from England, or any part of Britain. I'm from New Zealand, the little country at the bottom of the world that has sheep and... basically nothing else. If I use any words that are out of place for a British kid, well, I'm sorry. Please tell me what I'm doing wrong and I'll endeavour to fix it.

Salutations,  
Veritism.


End file.
